The Dogcatcher
by Soalric
Summary: A look into the classic children's villain. You've seen him in cartoons and movies, but what is he really like?


"I don't think you've heard my name, but you have heard of me. I was the dogcatcher. Yes, that horrible man you saw on your cartoons, chasing down your favorite dog or cat in the streets. That damn fool who would get himself caught in his own net. The one who ended up humiliated and hated, just for doing his job. But you never heard my name. My name is Brian, the dogcatcher, the monster.

"I think that most people actually believe I liked my job. I didn't. Every time I brought an animal into the pound, I was crushed, because I knew that dog or cat might never come out. I would carry them inside, and look into their eyes, eyes that may not see another sunrise. They are such innocent beings, and I feel like a traitor, the one who broke their trust. Sometimes, late at night, I would sneak in and take one or two out back."

* * *

_"Go on, Peg, Boris! Go on, you're free!" The two dogs looked questioningly at Brian, unsure on whether to accept his offer. He motioned with his hands, "You're free!" They started cautiously stepping away, and the man didn't react, only kept shooing them away. Eventually, they grew more confident, and ran off down the alley._

_Brian watched them go, smiling. His heart grew heavy though, and his face slowly fell. "…you're free…" he muttered, as he continued staring after the duo. Slowly, he turned back to the door of the pound._

* * *

"As time wore on, though, the city began to crack down on me. Too many dogs running around, and I was doing an awful job at keeping them off the streets. I had to get tough, or be replaced. And I was so, so scared some damned tyrant would take my place. So I did what I had to do, I tried to be gentle, but firmer. But still, people hated me, labeled me a crook, a bad guy. The more I heard it, the more I began to believe it, and the more I began to act the part."

* * *

_"Get in there, crazy mutt!" Brian heaved the grey, scruffy puppy into the cage and slammed the door. He marched into his office, threw the keys onto the table, and brusquely sat down, his head in his hands. He had just thrown little Scamp in with that beast of a bulldog he had caught earlier. Brian ignored the fireworks outside, the festivities of Independence Day. The ones he wouldn't able to enjoy. Any moment now, Tramp would come bursting in here, and Brian would end up knocking himself unconscious because of the dog's antics. He was to be the foolish, stupid, moronic villain again, like everyone said he was._

_Brian suddenly swept his arms across his desk in anger, throwing everything to the floor. He banged his fists on the hard oak wood, and again. Tears burned in his eyes. As long as he slaved away here, no one would care for him. Brian buried his face in his arms. Sobbing. Alone. He had to leave this place._

* * *

"Even when I left the pound, nobody would talk to me. All one hundred and one Dalmatians cross to the other side of the street when they see me coming down the sidewalk. I feel like I'm slowing down, too. I work as a waiter, now, at the House of Mouse, but my feet and legs hurt all the time, I've done so much running around in my days. After all, once you stop appearing in movies, you begin showing your age, and I've been around seventy years. Plus, everyone treats my funny, and I don't think my coworkers like me very much."

* * *

_"Waiter", Ariel spoke up shyly, "I ordered half an hour ago, is my food almost done?"_

_Brian turned to address her. "Sorry, ma'am, you'll have it soon." He forced a weak smile as he shuffled his way past the tables to the kitchen. The waiter picked up a single plate of food and turned to deliver it._

_"Hey, hurry it up!" The chef barked at him, "Orders are piling up, can't you take more?"_

_Brian nodded hurriedly, then carefully balanced a second, then a third plate in his arms. He pushed the doors open with his back and stepped as cautiously as he could. Suddenly, a small child dashed in front of him. Brian recoiled in shock._

_CRASH_

_Spaghetti, salad, and pizza flew into the air, across the floor, onto Brian's suit. The chef burst out of the kitchen, glaring at the ruined food. His eyes burned into the waiter's skull. Brian didn't look back, he knew he was in deep trouble. But worse, everyone was laughing. Brian supposed it was normal, this was a comedy show. Maybe it would even get him out of a reprimand. But he was the screw-up again._

_The stupid villain._

* * *

"Sometimes I sit on the bench in the park. I bring loafs of bread from my house that have gone stale, and I feed the birds that are willing to come up to me. I always bring a bag of doggy biscuits, in case a dog or cat I freed decides to stop by and say hi. They never do. Today, I gave up. I dumped the bag on the ground, and just left.

"I guess I'm too old to become someone, something else. I am not Brian any more. I am only the dogcatcher. I don't like it, and I'm tired of being feared. Because while everyone is afraid of me, I am scared all the time. Scared of how people will remember me, scared of being hated any longer.

"I've decided that I'm not going to stay here anymore. I'm going to move on, get away from this place. Nobody will make any fuss.

"Not for a crook, not for a fool like me.

"Not for the dogcatcher."

* * *

The dogcatcher pulled the paper from the typewriter and read it, and read it again, his face drawn long and solemn. This paper was the only voice he would have in his own image, to show the world who he really was.

Would anybody care, though?

In a rage, he crumpled the paper and threw it against the wall. It slid between the desk and the wall, coming to rest far underneath the furniture where no one could see it.

Before long, he had his things all packed. His clothes, his toothbrush, his comb, were in a suitcase on his bed. The dogcatcher had his best suit on, and looked in the mirror to adjust his tie. Only three things left to do now.

The dogcatcher opened his closet, and looked at the objects he needed.

One was the net, the net he used to catch countless animals over the years. The tool that everyone recognized and hated. The pound had let him keep it, a cruel reminder of his "service". Might as well go out with it by his side. He gripped it firmly in his hand.

The second was his hat, his dogcatcher hat. The small, insignificant article that had come to define his character. Slowly, trembling, the dogcatcher placed it upon his head.

The third was a pistol. It seemed every villain had a weapon in Disney, but rarely the heroes. Why? Wouldn't it make their job so much easier? The dogcatcher had often pondered this question to himself, but not tonight.

All he thought about tonight was the first fact. Every villain had a weapon.

And he owned a weapon.

The dogcatcher reached out as if in a trance, and took the firearm. He tightened his grip on his net. His hat began soaking through with sweat. He gave a deep, calming breath.

A gunshot rang out down the street.


End file.
